


Rearrangements

by silverr



Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: Bonding, Developing Friendships, F/F, Feelings Realization, Getting to Know Each Other, Girls' Night Out, Pampering, Pre-Femslash, R&R, Spa Treatments
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-12
Updated: 2018-10-12
Packaged: 2019-07-29 13:21:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,004
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16265057
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silverr/pseuds/silverr
Summary: In the wake of Hathor's departure, something wonderful begins.





	Rearrangements

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lah_mrh](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lah_mrh/gifts).



> Takes place between 1.14 ("Hathor") and 1.15 ("Singularity")

.

_I think maybe it's just me, but I can't figure out how to feel like one of the guys with these guys, you know what I mean?  
I always feel like I'm The Girl._

Captain Samantha Carter, "Hathor"

 

"I don't understand, sir."

"It's very simple, Captain," Hammond said as he arranged the items on his desk precisely. "Report to the helicopter pad by 1700."

"May I ask what this mission entails, sir?" Sam had the feeling that Hammond was avoiding looking her in the eye. Not a good sign.

"No Captain Carter, you may not. Dismissed."

And that was that.

.

"Dr Fraiser?" Sam had not expected to see the doctor at the landing pad. The short auburn haired physician wore her uniform, but not her customary white lab coat. There was a large duffel bag at her feet.

"Captain Carter." The doctor looked at her watch. "Right on time. Our ride should be here in... " She looked up at the sky expectantly, "Any minute."

 _"Our_ ride? You're coming too?"

"Um-hm." Fraiser was smiling faintly.

"Do you have any idea where we're going?" Sam asked. "General Hammond didn't give me any details. No mission briefing, not even a—"

Fraiser handed her a brochure.

On the cover was a photograph of a woman, with stylishly-arranged hair and a bare back, lying face down on an artfully-lit towel. Next to her was stack of more towels, and a man's hand was in the middle of placing the third of three flat round black stones as big as orange slices along her spine.

Sam looked up. "What is this?"

"That, Captain," said Doctor Fraiser, "is our assignment."

.

The helicopter landed in front of a sleekly modern entrance tucked so far under a natural rock overhang that it had not been visible until they landed. There was no signage out front, but a discreet AF insignia was etched into the upper corner of the glass-and-chrome doors.

They entered a small reception area whose walls, floors, and ceiling were tiled with polished agate that reminded Sam of false-color photographs of the radio emissions of various galaxies. Hung over the galaxies were neatly framed, hand-lettered lists of facials, foot treatments, masques, hair and nail treatments, and massages. She caught Janet's eye and shrugged. "I guess it is a spa."

Doctor Fraiser widened her eyes in an _I told you so_ sort of expression.

A moment later an impeccably-bunned older woman in a lab coat walked into the reception area from a hallway behind the reception desk. "Welcome, Captain Carter, Captain Fraiser," she said. "I am Miss Wickershaw. We've been expecting you." She held out a clipboard, which Dr Fraiser signed and returned to her. "Please follow me."

Miss Wickershaw led them along a hallway glowing with indirect lighting, past wall niches that held tasteful antique statues of goddesses of various cultures, small waterfall sculptures, and what looked like windchimes.

Miss Wickershaw stopped at the end of the hallway. She turned and held out simple bands of rose gold. "Your access rings."

"Heh, this place not use keys?" Sam asked.

Miss Wickershaw allowed herself a small smile. "You won't always have garments with pockets while you're here."

"That sounds ominous," Sam murmured.

Their room was, like the rest of the place, elegantly furnished. Two queen size beds, two extremely comfortable looking chaise lounges with concave backs and convex seats that looked perfect for reading, two small but luxurious bathrooms. When Janet pulled back the drapes, Sam saw a private patio beyond the glass doors. Encircled by a rock wall that did nothing to obstruct the view of the mountains and the sunset-tinged sky, the patio included a large sunken hot tub and a wood-burning fireplace.

"Geez, this place is nice," Sam said.

"Um-hm," Janet said.

"Robes in the closet," Miss Wickershaw said primly. "Nightwear and schedules in the bedside tables. Enjoy your stay."

With a small bow, she withdrew.

"So what is this place, really?" Sam asked. "It's a cover for something, right?"

"It's The Spa With No Name," Janet said, clearly relishing the opportunity to dole out minimal information. She went to the closet, and took out a white bathrobe that she tossed at Sam.

"That's ridic—oh my _god."_ Sam squeezed the robe, then held it to her face. "This robe is incredible."

"Good thing you like it," Janet said. "You'll be wearing ones just like it for the next three days."

There was a discreet knock on the door.

"Come in," Janet said.

An astoundingly handsome man with a white tunic and a regulation haircut pushed a tray with covered dishes into the room. "Indoor, or on the patio, ma'am?" he asked.

"Patio," Janet said cheerfully, discreetly ogling the man's butt. "Next to the hot tub."

"Will there be anything else, ma'am?"

"No, thank you, airman."

After he left Sam rolled her eyes and mouthed, _Wow._

Janet gave her an _I know_ look, then said, "Alright, go take a shower so we can get soaking."

"And then?" Sam asked.

"And then I'll answer all your questions."

.

Sam, freshly showered and wrapped in the robe—which was the most fabulous thing she'd ever wrapped around herself—was toweling her hair when Janet, unselfconsciously naked, walked out of the other bathroom, slid open the glass doors to the patio, then eased herself into the steaming hot tub with a contented sigh.

Janet had a dolphin on her hip; it had leapt through the waves as she walked.

Sam tossed her towel back into her bathroom. "When in Rome," she said as she took off her robe, and hurried onto the patio. "Nice tattoo," she said as she sunk down into the steaming water. The night air was slightly cool; the steaming water felt great. "Where did you get it?"

"China," Janet said, sitting up and twisting a little to peer at the covered dishes on her side of the hot tub. "Last night of a plague conference."

"That sounds fun." Sam checked her dinner as well. It was a mini-buffet of bite-size servings. Grilled stuffed mushrooms, artfully cut steamed vegetables, translucent spirals of fruit, slivers of mango and avocado, ceviche, tiny bean dumplings and vegetable spring rolls, and four or five things she didn't recognize.

"It was actually," Janet said, licking her fingers and then sinking back down in the water. "Oh, this feels so good."

Sam noticed a corona of bruising around the square waterproof bandages on Janet's shoulder. "How's the shoulder?"

"Getting there," Janet said. "Still a little stiff." The doctor had received a through and through the week before, when Hathor had invaded the SGC. The self-anointed goddess had used a goa'uld pheromone to charm the men: Fraiser had been shot by one of their own.

"So… " Sam said.

Janet ate two more dumplings, licked her fingers again, and said. "Okay. Hathor."

"Hathor?"

"A lot of our people did things while under her influence that they feel embarrassed about and ashamed of. Half the men on the base can't even look any of the women on the base in the eye. And that's not even including the ones who we shot or who shot at us."

Sam nodded. Daniel had been the first one to be smitten, but even Ja— Colonel O'Neill had fallen under the spell. Only Teal'c had been immune, thanks to his symbiote.

"Most of the men on base have worked hard to see past our gender," Janet said, "despite being raised by a generation that still believes a woman's place is in the home."

Sam nodded. "Barefoot and pregnant."

"Right," Janet said. "But most of the men in the SGC have trained themselves to see past that way of thinking. They've come to see us as having as much right to serve our country as they do, and as much to offer."

Sam nodded. "And the incident with Hathor rolled that back, so now they're back to looking at us and seeing," she raised her hands out of the water and gestured at her chest.

Janet chuckled. "Some of them, and it won't be permanent, but General Hammond and I decided that everyone needed a few days away from the SGC to do a reset anyhow. Nominally it's to repair the damage to the locker room from the exploding sarcophagus."

"So _everyone_ is on forced R  & R?"

"Yep."

"Even Westerholm and DeConnick and Takeda and Bennett and Dawson and Woods and Stevenson and Vaughn? And everyone on 15?"

Janet gave Sam a peculiar look. "You really do keep track of the women on the base."

"Is that a problem?" Sam asked with a little frown.

"No." Janet slid a little lower in the water. "It just seems odd compared with how little time you spend with them."

"Well, I didn't join the bowling league, if that's what you mean." Sam looked taken aback, as if something had suddenly occurred to her. "Is this a psych evaluation?"

"No, not at all." Janet said. "I took this as an opportunity to get to know you better," she said, and then paused. "Something you said when we were fighting Hathor really stuck with me."

"Oh?"

"You said that it bothers you that you can't figure out how to feel like one of the guys, because you always feel like you're The Girl." Janet shifted in the hot tub so that she was facing Sam. "Why does it bother you?"

"My dad," Sam said, looking down with a half grin. "He always told me that if I wanted to be taken seriously, I couldn't hang out with girls my own age. At all. He said that if I did I'd never be accepted as one of the guys, I'd be seen as someone who was just killing time in the Air Force until she met a husband and had babies."

Janet scoffed.

Sam was still staring down at the water. "I know, right? I'd always tell him that that type of thinking was still keeping a lot of great minds and great officers out of the Air Force."

"Fortunately not all of them," Janet said. "What did your mother say to him?"

"Not much," Sam said. "She died when I was twelve."

"I'm so sorry," Janet said. "It's so tough to lose a parent at that age."

"She used to," Sam's voice broke a little, "she used to sing Twinkle Twinkle Little Star to me, and… tell me that I should find out what the diamonds in the sky were."

Janet reached across and squeezed her shoulder gently.

Sam half laughed and wiped her tears. "Wow, sorry. I haven't brought that memory out in a while."

"Sounds like she was your inspiration."

Sam nodded. "She was. What about you?" she asked. "What was your family like?"

"Oh the usual," she said. "Army brat, two younger brothers. Moved a lot. Mom was the glue."

"And your dad?"

"He didn't care what I did as long as I didn't get pregnant before I graduated."

"But after was okay?" Sam laughed.

"Of course. But I disappointed him on that account as well. And my ex-husband." Janet twisted around, but winced as she reached toward the cover over her food.

"Let me get that," Sam said. "What did you want?"

"I want to see if I have any of those little square spring rolls left," Janet said.

"Oh, I have some," Sam said. She expected to hand it to Janet, but when the other woman opened her mouth like a baby bird, Sam just popped it in.

"Try one," Janet ordered, covering her mouth with her hand as she chewed.

"Oh, these _are_ good," Sam said a moment later. "Sorry, Fraiser, I'm keeping the rest for myself."

"Good. I like to see a little healthy selfishness now and again." She lifted her leg and wiggled her toes. "I'm starting to prune. Maybe it's time to get out?"

.

Wrapped in the luxurious robes, they sat on their chaises and spent half the night talking. Janet talked about her abusive ex-husband, and Sam talked about Jonas. They compared brothers (Mark vs Scott and Jeffrey), graduate and post-graduate work, their specializations (astrophysics vs. exotic diseases), and their first jobs (Sam in the Pentagon, Janet chasing mutated strains of anthrax and ebola). They compared notes about their service in the Gulf War, and finally got around to discussing Sam's teammates on SG-1.

"Who's the biggest mystery to you?" Janet asked, stifling a yawn.

"Hard to say." Sam said. "Teal'c's society is, well, alien, but Teal'c himself is a sweetheart."

"And such a great sense of humor."

"Teal'c." Sam looked dubious. "We are talking Teal'c, right?"

"Oh yeah," Janet said. "It's a dry, quiet humor, to be sure, but it's there."

"I'll take your word for it."

"Daniel?" Janet prompted. "Or are you still steamed that he got to go to Abydos instead of you?"

Sam started to say something, then half grinned. "Daniel takes some getting used to."

"He has a good heart, though."

"I suppose." Sam leaned back in her chair. "Doctor Fraiser, are you trying to fix me up?"

"No," Janet said, "no no no. Never."

"Good."

"And Colonel O'Neill?"

"You go first this time," Sam said.

"Jack reminds me of my father," Janet said.

"Really?" Sam leaned back even more, and folded her arms across her chest.

"Sure. Stubborn as hell, and a little full of himself sometimes."

"More than a little," Sam grumbled.

Janet pretended not to hear this. "A little rebellious. Confuses chivalry and chauvinism sometimes. Hammond does the same thing."

"That's an interesting way to put it," Sam said. Her body language relaxed a little.

Janet yawned again. She opened her bedside drawer, and took out a pair of ivory silk pajamas and a sheet of paper. She glanced at the paper. "Oh no," she said.

"What?"

"We'd better get to sleep," Janet said, scrambling off her chaise. "We have tai chi at dawn, and mudwraps and massage after that!"

.

Sam didn't know how they managed to make it through the next day. Feeling drunk from too little sleep, they nevertheless greeted the dawn without discrediting either themselves or the Air Force.

It was disappointing that breakfast was boiled grains and fresh fruit—Sam had a rare hankering for bacon and scrambled eggs—but Janet explained that their spa program excluded red meat, non-probiotic dairy, caffeine, alcohol, and sugar. "None of the fun stuff."

"I can usually pass on most of those," Sam said, "but of course as soon as you tell me I _can't_ have something, that's exactly what I crave."

"I'm the same." Janet looked at her watch. "Oops, we're late for mud."

The mud tubs, unfortunately, reminded them both so much of the late locker room whirlpool that they spent nearly the entire quarter-hour making horrible, nearly incomprehensible jokes about DNA traces and soup that eventually even the attendants were giggling like a pre-teens.

"God, what was in this mud?" Sam said as the attendants helped them out and began to rinse them off. When Janet sputtered, "DNA!" it set them all off again.

The massages that followed were much more sedate—so sedate, in fact, that both of them nearly fell asleep.

After that they went back to the room and napped for a few hours, something that seemed the most decadent activity so far. They woke near sunset to take dinner on the terrace off the Great Room.

"It's weird that there are so few guests here," Sam said, glancing around the four other people scattered around the huge flagstone terrace. Dinner was a hearty vegetable and barley soup garnished with mango salsa, and she was on her third bowl.

Janet shrugged. "Off season, I guess."

"This is an Air Force facility? I wonder if it's part of the SGC budget."

"I don't know," Janet said, looking around. "Great view, though."

They stayed on the terrace until the sun had set and the stars had come out, then went back to their room and read in companionable silence for the rest of the evening.

.

The second day started off similar to the first, except that this time both of them completed the tai chi with much more energy and grace. They did facial masques instead of a mud bath, and talked in a little more depth about the violence they'd seen, both in the war and in their relationships.

They both were feeling a bit talked out by the time the foot massages began, though, so they spent that time listening to the waterfall sculpture and the Tibetan bowl music.

Lunch was salad, which they ate dutifully. Only two other tables on the terrace were occupied.

"You know what I want for dinner?" Janet said. "A steak. And a beer."

Sam grinned. "Ask for a cupcake, too."

"We're not in Antarctica," Janet said. "There have to be places within driving distance."

"Which would be useful information if we had a car," Sam said, chasing a frill of raw kale.

"Well… " Janet leaned forward conspiratorially, "we could call a cab."

.

To Sam's surprise, after Miss Wickershaw told them firmly that she was unable, under any circumstances, to call them a cab, she then said that she was perfectly willing to provide a driver.

She raised one eyebrow slightly—apparently at the sensible work pumps—when Sam and Janet appeared at the reception desk twenty minutes later wearing the sleeveless cocktail dresses that Janet had smuggled in in her duffel bag. Janet's was deep blue v-neck with a handkerchief hem, while Sam's was a square-necked burgundy sheath with a subtle violet shimmer. Despite all the things they had been through both separately and together, this spontaneous excursion to what would probably be a dubious roadhouse had them both vibrating with excitement.

"There is no curfew," Miss Wickershaw said. "The driver will wait."

.

 _Steak and Lobster,_ the sign on the restaurant-bar said, _Dancing Nightly._ Above it was indeed a crustacean waltzing with a ribeye. Despite being nearly in the middle of nowhere, the building was not in any way dubious. The parking lot was full.

Inside, a long bar divided the space into dining and dancing areas. Janet and Sam took a booth in the dining area, away from the door.

"Top round," Janet said as soon as the waiter had appeared with menus. "Medium well. Any red ales on tap?"

"Bottled only, I'm afraid," he said. "We have a draft porter that's highly rated, though. Local brewery."

"Sounds good."

"I'll have the same," Sam said, waving off the menu.

"Will that be all?" the waiter asked.

"We'll need a cupcake," Janet said. "Her birthday's coming up." She reached inside the neckline of her dress, pulled out two folded bills, and handed them to the waiter. Benjamin Franklin most definitely winked from the top one.

"I'll see what I can do," the waiter said, and hurried away.

Sam waggled a finger at Janet. "Shame on you, Doctor Fraiser!"

"I didn't _lie,"_ Janet said. "Your birthday _is_ coming up."

"Yeah, four months from now," Sam said as she shook her napkin out and draped it across her lap.

.

"I have to tell you," Sam said, "I haven't had this much fun in… well, in a long time."

"Can I give you some advice?"

"As our CMO?"

"As a friend." Janet laced her fingers together, and propped them under her chin. "What your father told you was wrong. You don't have to avoid making female friends in order to be taken seriously. All you need to do is be yourself, do your job."

Sam gave a half shrug. "I do that, I think, but—"

"Does Hammond make you feel like The Girl?"

"Well, no, but—"

"Why not?"

"Because I know he values my contribution."

"That's right." Janet said firmly. "Does Teal'c make you feel like The Girl? Or an outsider?"

"No, b— " Sam stopped herself. "Okay, I hadn't thought of it like that. But the other two!"

"Daniel and Colonel O'Neill are still negotiating their male bonding, so I'm not surprised they're not sure how to fit you in yet either." Janet smirked slightly. "Or maybe you feel like The Girl around those two for a reason?"

"I, no, absolutely not." Sam pressed both hands down on the table to underscore her denial. "No. No way. and even if I did, _regulations."_

"At any rate," Janet said, smiling fondly, "in my opinion The Boys still have a ways to go, but whether you realize it or not, and whether they _show_ it or not, when they look at you they see a brilliant, brave, compassionate, resourceful team member first, and a woman second. And that's not going to change, no matter who you hang with in your spare time."

"Wow," Sam said. She put her hands over her cheeks. "Uh, thank you."

Janet motioned to the waiter that they were ready for the cupcake.

After the cupcake had been eaten they went around the bar to the dance floor. No one was dancing, so Janet went up to the DJ.  After a brief discussion that involved him digging a CD out of a battered cardboard box and slapping it disdainfully into the oversized boom box that was the Lobster and Steak's music system, Janet came back and said. "And now I'm going to teach you to dance." She held out her arms.

"Oh really? You're going to teach me?" Sam scoffed.

"Yup. C'mon. Team-building exercise. Female bonding activity."

"Lady, you do _not_ know what you're getting into,"  Sam said, and sure enough, as soon as the first notes of Goodman's "Sing Sing Sing" started up, she grinned. Debra Carter's collection of 30s and 40s records were one of Sam's most prized possessions and she knew them by heart—as well as how to dance to them.

She grabbed Janet's hand and started to jitterbug.

To Sam's delight, Janet gave as good as she got. By the time the song was over they even got a tepid round of applause from the few apathetic patrons sitting around the edges of the dance floor.

The DJ, apparently annoyed by the applause the two women had received, retaliated by putting on a Daft Punk song,.

Sam recognized a thrown gauntlet when she heard one. So the DJ thought that because she and Janet could dance to swing music, they couldn't handle a little house? She raised her eyebrow at Janet, and kept time with one hand until the beat stabilized, then simply held her arms up and undulated. Janet joined in, somehow synchronizing belly dance moves to the pulse in a very sexy way.

Their display encouraged a few patrons to join them and try to cut in, but Sam and Janet ignored them, continuing to find a way to dance to everything the increasingly sour-faced DJ tossed out. The Spice Girls' "Spice up Your Life." Backstreet Boys' "Everybody." Smashmouth's "Walkin' on the Sun."  Clock's "You Sexy Thing." By that time they had people coming in from the dining room; those who weren't dancing were clapping in time to the music.

They were damp with sweat and having a good time… and then Savage Garden's "Truly Madly Deeply" started up, and couples started slow dancing.

They started at each other for a few beats, and when Janet said, "Why not?" Sam kicked off her shoes.

It started out as a tentative hug with swaying, but they fit together so perfectly that it felt right to press closer. Completely natural, like a dolphin arcing gracefully above the waves; inevitable and unstoppable and amazing, like a supernova flaring in the darkness. As the song started to wind down Sam held Janet a little tighter, and tried not to think about UCMJ and regulations for a few seconds more.  Because usually when someone felt this good, she wanted to kiss them.

And then the song was over, so they took a bow, linked arms, ran out to the driver, and whooped all the way back to the spa.

.

.

_posted 12 October 218; rev 10 June 2019_

**Author's Note:**

> The spa in this story is based in part on the Alluvia Spa, which is part of Cheyenne Mountain Resort. (I have never been there, but it looks lovely.)
> 
> Biographical details were taken from the Stargate wikia and [this topic on the GateWorld forum](https://forum.gateworld.net/threads/6278-Dr-Janet-Fraiser-Teryl-Rothery-Thunk-Discussion-Appreciation). Songs were selected from a list of "Top Hits of 1997."
> 
> Westmoreland is the only female named in this story that is a canonical SGC character. The other names were borrowed from female comic book creators.


End file.
